


dressed to impress

by wbtrashking (fan_nerd)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluffy Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 13:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12299760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fan_nerd/pseuds/wbtrashking
Summary: It’s funny, because people always seem to think of Maka as innocent and guileless. She’s always been the more forward of the two of them, and that holds true inallaspects of their relationship.





	dressed to impress

**Author's Note:**

> idk??? i just really wanted to write a bunch of fluffy soul/maka smut, but then i got carried away. :')
> 
> enjoy! ♥

Currently, Soul hates his girlfriend.

The feeling is facetious, of course. He could never hate Maka. She had rescued him from a shitty home life and elevated his status among demon weapons to the highest level. He’s nothing but thankful for his meister, even on the days when she nags at him for ages and he just grumbles back at her.

Today, however, he feels rather justified in his frustrations. Maka is wearing a sweeping one-piece that’s creamy white, skin-tight, and the sheer lace showcasing her sides displays that she doesn’t have any underwear on— _goddamn it._ He’s been trying really hard not to stare, but now Maka has noticed that he’s been looking, so she lowers her lashes back at Soul every time their eyes meet.

They’re at a dinner function, one of the DWMA’s numerous summer parties to welcome new students to the academy and show off a bit. Soul himself is wearing a wine-red button down with the top button undone, as well as a crisp white waistcoat and matching pants, but he feels decidedly more _formal_ than his meister looks.

Maka looks like she came to snap necks, and she’s succeeded. Amazingly so. She bites her lips the next time her green eyes roam to Soul’s face and Soul holds back a whine.

_Damn her._

They should be at home undressing each other with looks like those being exchanged. Instead, here they are, surrounded by a thrall of young weapons and meisters that  _ooh_ and _ahh_ at The Final Death Scythe and the equally famous Senior Technician Maka Albarn. When Maka is called to the stage to show off a few moves—another frequently used party trick at the academy—Soul gamely sidles over to her. Kid prattles on about the history of the school before their demonstration.

Soul murmurs, “If you flash anyone in that dress, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“I’ll make sure that I put you between my legs before I jump,” Maka whispers in reply. Soul could throttle her for the double entendre. He knows that she can sense where his thoughts are at, because she smirks like the little heathen she is. _Tease_. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you between my legs for real in a little while. The function’s almost over.”

“I hate you,” Soul mutters back, cheeks slightly pink as he transforms, falling into Maka’s hands as is his second nature. Their spirits are always at a low thrum of resonance, understanding pulsing steadily between them. He would do anything for her, and she would just as quickly throw her life on the line for him. It’s like dancing, stepping in smooth arcs with her, the beats going _one-two-three, one-two-three_ in succession as they swerve and dip and move.

Maka trusts him with everything she is, and she is so much more than Soul deserves, so he will be damned if he ever lets her go.

They come to a standstill with stunned silence filling the floor. Soul transforms back into his human shape to the sound of thunderous applause, and he and Maka take a bow in unison.

Kid manages to quiet everyone for a few more minutes, finally dismissing the students for food and beverages. At this point, Maka tugs on Soul’s hand and presses her left hand to his chest, a warm weight against him. “Home?”

“Fuck yes,” Soul grunts back, trailing after his meister dutifully.

//

The moment the door closes behind them, Maka backs Soul into one of the apartment walls and they trip over Blair’s tail in the rush to kiss. The magical cat hurries out of the window with a soft mewl and Soul would feel bad about not being able to wish her a good night at work, except that his girlfriend has no patience and she’s ripping all of the buttons off of his nice new waistcoat.

“All the girls and the faculty women were staring at you tonight,” Maka says, her voice a hum as she noses over Soul’s throat and grinds against him. “You look really nice in white. I should’ve known better. Should’ve let you wear that frumpy old suit you wore when we were teenagers.”

Soul spends a long time kissing her instead of speaking, undoing the zipper at her back in one fluid motion. Once he finally pulls away from her, satisfied at the foggy, heated look in Maka’s eyes and with her short breaths, he murmurs, “Your dress was twice as bad as what I had on. Thought all those kids were gonna cream themselves, looking at you onstage.”

“Oh?” Maka’s voice has a predatory lilt to it as she shimmies out of her dress, fully naked, skin hot as she unbuckles Soul’s belt and then promptly skips off to her bedroom, beckoning for her weapon to follow. “Just the young students losing their minds then, hmm?”

“You _know_ how I felt,” Soul admits in a murmur, falling into Maka’s open arms once he’s undressed, sharp teeth gingerly nipping at her bottom lip before he moves lower. He presses them into the soft skin of her throat, staying there until her moan dries out. “I did my best to behave.”

Maka fists one small hand in Soul’s white hair and pulls his nose to her own with a soft look. “You did well,” she praises him, using her other hand to reach for his dick and flick her thumb over the head of it. He’s quite hard already, filled with adrenaline from the evening’s actions, and Maka’s touch has him sharply sucking in air. “You know I love it when your pupils blow out. Your eyes look redder than usual when they do, and since it’s summer, your tan’s really dark. It’s nice,” she says, “remembering that you’re really mine. _My_ weapon. _My_ boyfriend.”

Soul bucks into her and cups one of Maka’s breasts. “I’ve always been yours,” he replies before he wiggles his fingers and takes in the sight of his flushed meister touching him languidly. “What do you want me to do tonight, Maka?”

He loves the taste of her on his tongue; loves her uncontrollable long legs curved around his shoulders as she comes and groans. Loves fingering her open wide and babbling incessantly. Loves coming inside her; loves _her_ , in all formats. Even if Maka told him she was tired of sex right now, he’d be perfectly content to hold her in his arms all night and savor her body heat, playing with the long tendrils of her smoky blonde hair.

He’s in deep, he knows. He’s affectionate underneath all of his bluster, but the only person who needs to know the depth of his nature is Maka herself. When she says, “I want you to finger me for a bit before I ride you,” Soul knows he’s going to obey to the best of his ability and give Maka exactly what she asks for.

Maka, for her part, is entranced with everything about her partner. Soul’s brows crinkle up in concentration as he slowly guides two fingers inside of her folds, reaching inside of her with the touch of a man who knows this area well and is still cautious, regardless. He presses and stretches slowly, adding another finger as she squirms, and Maka loves his patience. Loves that he seeks her pleasure before his own because that’s the kind of person he is. Soul is a gem she’s never stopped being grateful for – a man far better than her own father, even if he’s often sloppy, cranky, and reserved.

In this, he is as open as he can be with her. He communicates often—asking if she’s still okay, what feels good, if he should rub her clit right away or prolong the sensation so she gets the full brunt of her orgasm. Her tongue lolls in her mouth as Soul presses close to her, snapping his wrist, and her hips instinctively arch off of the mattress. That’s when she knows to shift positions. Soul is desperately hard against her, and she swiftly climbs over his thighs to feel him. He is sweaty and flushed, white hair tousled across red eyes, and she loves him.

“Ready?” Maka asks, and Soul hums, nodding in agreement, long pianist’s hands settling over her hips in anticipation. Her hands are calloused as they search his chest, lingering over the long-healed stitches before she reaches over his head and grabs a condom from off of the night stand.

She kisses him once on the cheek before she rolls the condom on, reaches once more for a bit of lube, and angles herself above Soul’s dick before lining him up and sinking her weight down on him.

They both inhale shakily as they get used to the feeling. Soul’s lips are blood red as he bites down on them, wheezing out Maka’s name in broken spurts, fingers shaking on her hips. He is so fragile, this tall, beautiful weapon of hers, and Maka adores that. She licks her lips before sitting back on her knees, Soul almost completely out of her, before she goes back down, and he howls.

“You’re terrible,” he murmurs mockingly once he can breathe, unable to keep a lazy smile off of his face. “Slow down, Maka. I’m not going anywhere.”

Maka huffs lightly. “I know. If we went at your pace every time, it’d take us all night.”

“What’s wrong with a little slow sex sometimes, huh?” Soul inquires, slowly running one hand up Maka’s left side and delighting in her responding shiver. “There’s no rush. No missions tomorrow. Just you, me, and this bed. We’ve been waiting to do this all night, so let’s do it right.”

Soul is so emotional, so focused on pacing and ambiance and romance. _What a sap_ , she thinks, and has half a mind to teasingly say the words, but instead, she laces their hands together and nods, rocking against him with a slow roll of her hips as he rocks back against her. The sensation _is_ fabulous, that much Maka can admit—the motions are bringing her close and the tight heat Soul’s locked in has him in much the same situation. Their moans are low and raspy and deep, sweat rolling over each other as they move.

Maka murmurs that she’s going to come and Soul tells her the same. He says they should try to come together, as closely as they can time it, and she giggles lovingly, murmuring, “Okay.”

Moments later, their spines both straighten, and Maka gasps for air at the feeling of her orgasm. Once Soul is soft inside of her, she lets him slip out and collapses on his chest, knowing that he’ll sit up and get rid of the condom neatly, wiping himself down with tissues as he goes to the bathroom and grabbing a hand towel for her on his way back.

They lie on the bed after they’ve cleaned up and just cuddle, Soul’s fingers tapping a rhythm down the knobs of Maka’s spine. “Should’ve never let you buy that dress,” he says in a sleepy murmur and she cackles. “Evil thing. Didn’t tell me you wouldn’t wear anything underneath it.”

“The lace is sheer. If I’d worn anything under it, people would’ve seen it. Wasn’t worth the trouble.” Maka toys with Soul’s hair until her arms get tired, letting them go slack and drinking in Soul’s heat like a sponge. It’s cold in the desert once the sun goes down. “Well, guess it was worth it in the end, though. Made you all hot and bothered.”

“You would’ve jumped me in your sweatpants if you wanted to,” Soul deadpans, and Maka admits that he’s right. “Not that it matters. You know I love you. I love everything you do.”

Maka’s cheeks burn hot at the words. “I…yeah, I know. You don’t speak _that_ frankly very often.”

Soul grumbles, “You _know_ me, Maka. It’s hard.”

“I know.” She does. Soul is awkward, but he tries so hard. He cares so much, underneath all of his insecurities. It’s endearing.

They are twenty, have been partnered almost eight years, and Soul can imagine no better place in the world than next to Maka. He falls asleep with her in his arms and is pleased that he’ll wake up to the sight of her snuggled against his chest.

//

“Dude.” Black Star passes a milkshake to his friend before plopping down on the bench and giving Soul a _look_. “When the hell are you and Maka gonna stop sniping at each other like an old married couple and actually tie the knot?”

Soul chokes on his spit before glaring at the blue-haired man. “The fuck, Star? Who cares? We’re only twenty.”

“Yeah, except Maka’s twenty goin’ on seventy,” Black Star says, and Soul is forced to grumble that he’s right about that. “I’m not forcin’ the issue or nothin’, I just think it’s odd. You’ve been together the longest out of our whole group. Liz finally grabbed Kid by the ass, which, _weird_ , that anybody can lock lips with that guy.”

“Kid’s pretty cool, if you can adjust to him,” Soul explains quietly. Black Star will always be one of his best friends, but Kid is his boss, _kind of_ , and also, he genuinely is a nice person. Death God. Whatever. “I thought he wasn’t interested in _anyone_ like that, though. Told me once that he was asexual. I think Liz just _gets_ him, and he loves that about her. Also, Liz is just a perv.”

“Anyways, the point is, me and Baki are livin’ the dream, Liz’s got whatever the hell she’s got with Kid, and you and Maka have been the power couple of DWMA since you were like, sixteen. Do you not wanna marry her or something?”

Soul blows snow-white hair out of his eyes and stares down at his cup. “It’s not like that. I’d do anything that would promise my life to her.” He takes a long slurp while Black Star studies him. “I just don’t want to screw things up. I’ve got my things that I don’t want to deal with, and she’s got hers. It’s just my luck that the top thing on her list is marriage.”

Black Star seems to finally catch on. “Her dad, huh?”

“Right.”

“You’re not him, and you never were. It’s the whole reason she likes you. Hell, even her _dad_ seems to have warmed up to you.”

It’s true—Soul had previously been a grungy teenage boy that Spirit had loathed being so close to his daughter. Nowadays, he’s still got his own style, which is still a little offbeat, but Maka loves him and Spirit is constantly begging Soul to bring him and his daughter closer again now that the hurt of the divorce is less raw for her. Soul’s not sure whether the failure of her parents’ marriage would be enough to stop them from cementing a future together and sharing a last name, but there is one other problem.

Soul’s thrown everything about his past away except for his legal name, and proposing to Maka would mean telling her everything that he’s been afraid of talking about for the last eight years. He should be ready for that—loves Maka _more_ than enough to trust her with the information—but he’s still terrified.

“I dunno, Star,” Soul finally says. “I’ll think about it, if you really think it would make her happy.”

Maka and Black Star had grown up together like siblings. Soul does trust his opinion on the subject, at the very least.

“Hell,” Black Star replies, “If you dick around long enough, she’ll probably propose to _you_. That stubborn woman doesn’t have the patience to wait on anything, and you should know that best of all.”

Thinking of how Maka had wiggled in his lap in the middle of a movie last night, and then _purred_ , of all the fucking sounds, when she’d turned to look at him, Soul sputters out a laugh.

“True,” Soul says, smiling so hard that his face hurts and all of his stupid, pointy teeth flash. “I guess I’d better hurry things up, huh?”

“Damn straight.”

With that, the two of them knock their milkshake cups together and move onto other topics of conversation.

//

He runs into Spirit on the day he’s finally decided to sit down with Maka, have some homemade chicken noodle soup after a week-long mission, and figure out where their lives are headed. The timing is either impeccable or god-awful, Soul can’t really decide, when his eyes catch Spirit’s fire-red hair in the grocery queue.

The older weapon sees him at the same time, so Soul has no time to run. _Damn_.

“Soul,” he greets, stepping out of his place in line to talk to the white-haired young man. “You’re not usually on this side of town. What are you doing here?”

Currently, trying hard not to think of Maka wrinkling her nose at him in the same exactly way as her father. Unfortunately, Spirit Albarn is not nearly as cute when he does it. “Had to get a couple things at a store that was a little more upscale than ours. Besides, what do you mean, _this side of town_? You live three blocks away from us.”

He remembers, unpleasantly enough, that Spirit had stopped by the apartment two inopportune times and Maka had been blisteringly frustrated by both visits. The second time, she had nearly ripped her father’s hair out, warning him to call ahead, and he’d taken the hint. Spirit now knows that Soul, whom he had once treated as public enemy number one, is _officially_ sleeping with his daughter. It’s not particularly pleasant knowledge for either of them to deal with.

Soul should probably stop scowling and work on making a better impression of himself, but it’s difficult. Maka’s standoffish handling of her father is infectious.

“I just needed to go on a walk. Smell some fresh air.” After scanning him for a minute, sea-blue eyes piercing Soul’s red ones, he squares his shoulders. “Come walk with me for a bit after we check out.”

It’s not a request. Soul sighs, agrees, and texts his meister that he will be home late. Maka sends him a sad face in a text and he’s moments away from telling Spirit that the walk is off, but the older man looks more weary than Soul has seen him look in ages.

 _This_ talk is way overdue. Soul’s planned discussion with Maka will have to take a rain check.

//

“You love my daughter.” The statement hangs in the air as Soul sits on the park bench, watching people pet their dogs and chat as the lamps flicker on. Their grocery bags sit on the sidewalk by their feet.

“Yes.” As long as the conversation remains this businesslike, Soul will be able to keep a leash on his emotions. Most days, his relaxed aura isn’t a façade—he truly has grown into an even-tempered young man and the things that bother him are far outweighed by the things that don’t. Maka’s loving smile and quiet acceptance of him helps a lot. Spirit’s eyes lock onto Soul’s and the younger weapon sighs. “Look, why are we here? If this is about stating the obvious and getting the whole _don’t break my daughter’s heart_ talk over with, go ahead. I wanna go home.”

Soul’s cranky because his plans for the evening have been disrupted. He thinks he’s entitled to a little whining.

“She’d break your heart before you broke hers,” Spirit says, and Soul silently admits that he’s right about that. “I know you love her. You’d never hurt her. _You’ve_ almost died for her a hundred times.”

“I’ll do it a hundred more, too,” Soul says quietly.

Maybe that’s fatalist of him, but who cares. His death is the least of his problems, as long as Maka stays alive and happy and warm. He’d sooner break both of his legs than make her miserable. Hell, he feels bad when they have their bad bouts of fighting and they don’t talk for a day or two. Soul wouldn’t be able to do anything that would put him in Maka’s bad books.

“She’s everything to me.”

In his heart of hearts, he’ll never truly understand Spirit’s sense of love in regards to his ex-wife. Thinking of pairing with another _technician_ makes Soul want to throw up; cheating is completely out of the question.

“Right,” Spirit says, the word coming out in a low exhale. “Right.” His eyes flick up to the sky for a moment before he speaks again. “But you don’t want to marry her.”

Soul is monumentally _floored._ “The fuck?” He blurts out the words before he can stop himself, muttering under his breath before finally saying, “What gave you that stupid idea?”

He also wonders why everybody suddenly seems so curious about why he hasn’t up and married Maka yet. They’re only _twenty_ , for hell’s sake.

“You’re scared of something. Soul, I’m her father and I’m a screw-up, but I see the way she looks at you. You’re a good man, and if you want to marry my daughter, I’d trust you to take care of her.” The words are phenomenally jarring, coming from someone so selfishly protective of his child that he’d usually snap and snarl at any male looking Maka’s way. “I just want to know what’s holding you back. If it’s because of…my past with her mother, I’ll talk to her. She hasn’t turned you down, has she?”

“This is, hands down, the most absurd conversation of my _life_ ,” Soul says, with the full realization that he’d battled widespread insanity on both the earth and the _moon_. “No, god, fuck, she hasn’t turned me down. I haven’t even _asked_.” After he pouts for a moment, folding his arms over his chest, he finally admits, “It’s a long story. To tell you the truth, I was going to tell her about everything tonight before I ran into you. It’s not exactly something I’d tell you, Spirit. No offense.”

“None taken.” Spirit looks relieved at the admission, which helps Soul relax his shoulders. “Either way, I wish you the best. I still don’t like you, by the way.”

“Don’t worry. Feeling’s mutual,” Soul replies.

“I just hate you a little bit _less_ than the other losers that buzz around my baby girl. Clear?”

“Crystal,” the white-haired weapon mutters, gathering up his groceries. “Great talk. See you later, old man.”

“Tell Maka to let me walk her down the aisle when she says yes!”

Soul rolls his eyes and pointedly ignores the redhead as he makes his way home.

//

It takes two more months for Soul to gather up the courage to try and talk to his meister again, and his brain kicks into gear to do so at the _weirdest_  time.

Maka’s wound up after a long day of traveling, and Soul offers to wash her back in the bathtub at the hotel. The place is opulent—under Kid’s administration, the technicians that answer directly to him are treated amazingly well. The school’s revenue has increased since he’s taken over.

The two of them kind of mess around on the way into the tub. Soul tweaks her nipples and Maka wiggles her small, toned butt against him as they settle into the hot water, but mostly, the evening is just nice and relaxing.

Soul kneads Maka’s shoulders as they chat in the bath, and when the conversation drifts off, he opens his big mouth and inserts his foot. “We need to talk about us, and my family.” Maka’s back immediately stiffens and he hurries to continue, “It’s nothing bad, promise. I’ve just never found the right time to tell you, and well. Now is. It’s good. Isn’t it?”

He’s nervous and she can tell. She nods against his chest and settles more of her weight back on him to give the indication that she’s listening. Her piercing green eyes close and he can focus a little more, knowing that she’s not staring at him.

“I ran away from home. Threw away my family name,” Soul says, fingers tracing small circles on Maka’s forearms. “It’s not exactly something I’m proud of.”

He remembers his heart pulsing in his throat at every recital. Remembers his mother’s encouraging words and his father’s uplifting speeches. Remembers halls full of flattering critics and daring women that all wanted to hang off of his gangly, boyish arms. Remembers the first time he’d transformed parts of his body into a scythe, in front of his grandmother and his older brother, and thought to himself that at last, he’d found something to do where he wouldn’t have to measure up against Wes.

The moment had been eye-opening.

“Still liked my initials, though,” he admits. “ _Soul Eater_. Kinda self-explanatory. Not sure where my parents pulled _Soul_ from when they named my brother Wes, but I guess they wanted me to be different.” Self-depreciatingly, he laughs, and says, “I _was_ different from him, just not in a good way. Weird name for a weird kid.”

“It’s not weird,” Maka murmurs, picking up his right hand to kiss his palm. “I think it’s sweet—being named Soul. It’s like, the most integral part of any person, right? They probably meant well.”

 _Probably_ , he thinks. “Anyways. You can look my family up online. My brother’s obviously the most famous one because he’s the most talented and the youngest—Wes Evans, violinist. He also composes quite a bit these days.”

Comprehension dawns on her quickly. Maka’s always been an avid student, even though she’s long since graduated. Music is one subject she’ll never stop reading about, because there is so much she does not understand, and it is so integral to her partner’s life. “ _The_ Evans family? As in, owners of several large estates in the US and in Europe? Tickets sold out for months in advance— _really?_ ” She’d always known Soul to be talented and reserved, but harboring such a large secret for so many years comes as quite a shock to her. “Wow.”

Soul grunts behind her, sounding a little sad. “I told you that running away wasn’t something I was proud of.”

“Sorry.” She squeezes his knees reassuringly. “Why did you leave?”

“Hated it,” he says quickly, the words coming a little easier now that the hardest part has been said. “Never fit in. I was always second best.” Soul wraps his arms around Maka’s waist and breathes in the clean scent of her skin while he speaks. “People always said I was great, but he was better. It hurt, you know? I think what hurt more is that, you know, maybe I _could’ve_ been just as good as he was; maybe I could’ve been everything that people expected me to be, but it hurt too much to try. I’d just think about all the ways that Wes was just a better _person_ than me and my hands would just freeze.”

He’s silent for a long time after that, and Maka does not disturb the peace. Once he’s finally gathered his wits again, he continues.

“So, I ran. When I figured out what I was—what I _could_ be—when I found out that it was something Wes had _no_ chance of being able to do, I left. Packed my bags in the middle of the night, caught the first bus out of town with my allowance, and I left. Made my way to Death City, because I’d heard rumors that there were lots of kids like me, looking for technicians, and you know the rest.”

It occurs to Maka then that many of the times he’d clammed up, his haunting past had been the problem. “Do you think about that stuff a lot? When we fight and you’re stuck in your own head?”

“More often than I’d like to admit,” he says, dry lips scratching the back of her neck. “I know it’s stupid. I know worrying about things I can’t change is a waste of time. How I match up to other people and other weapons shouldn’t mess me up so bad, but, well. I’m me.”

“You _are_ you,” Maka says, finally turning those beautiful green eyes on him and stroking his face lightly with one wet hand. “The only you in the world. That’s all that matters to _me_.”

Soul chuckles lightly and twirls a few locks of her wet hair around his fingers. “You make things sound so _simple._ C’mon, prune-hands. We’ll finish the second part of this conversation once we get out.”

//

“I just figured I’d ask,” Soul nervously begins, “but we love each other, right?”

Maka rolls her eyes and gives him a blank, flat stare, like she has never heard a stupider question in her entire life. “Yes.”

“And, I mean. I know I’m the last, like, _official_ Death Scythe, but everybody knows that I only work with you, and Kid’s finicky anyways. The Thompsons are the only weapons game enough to deal with that guy all the time, and—”

“Soul,” Maka interjects gently, putting one hand on her hip, where she’s wearing low-riding pajama shorts. “Rambling.”

“Right, you’re right, sorry.” He draws in a shaky breath before he says, “Anyways, I guess I’d just always figured that things would just…keep gradually moving forward. We started off with mutual respect, then we became best friends as well as trustworthy partners. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, whatever that looks like, and things could be like this forever if that’s what you want.” Soul draws his red eyes up to Maka’s green ones and finishes by saying, “I want whatever you want, as long as it’s by your side. Please.” The last word comes out as a squeak.

She knows he means every bit. Forcing himself to rehearse this painfully serious discussion had probably taken him the better part of a year. He’d interrupted quality bath time to talk about his family tonight. Maka’s probably learned more about her partner in the last hour than she has in the last decade, and there’s no chance in hell that she’d stomp on his feelings by laughing, though she wants to desperately.

“Soul, seriously,” she teases lightly, pulling her weapon into a gentle hug. “If you want me to, what— _propose_ to you? Just say it already. Geez, you’re so difficult sometimes.”

Soul grumbles against the top of her head. “Screw you. I wasn’t sure if you’d ever want to get married, because, well, you know.” She does. “We could go to the courthouse. I don’t really want a ceremony, and I don’t think you’d like one either. It’d just make filing our joint taxes easier.” He trails off when she pulls back a bit, his cheeks burning hot red, saying, “If we ever had kids or something, that would probably be easier to explain, too. Us being married, I mean. Ah, fuck. I’m so bad at this stuff.”

“Okay,” she says, leaning up on her toes to kiss her boyfriend. “Yes, let’s get married. Why don’t we do it next week when we get home?”

“Wow,” Soul exclaims, breathless as he smiles and studies her, eyes flicking over her pink cheeks. “I’m down with that, yeah. Great.”

“Now that that’s settled,” Maka says, flopping down on the mattress and patting the sheets next to her, “I’m tired. C’mere. It’s my turn to be the big spoon.”

“Aww man,” Soul grumbles without any real feeling. “You’re always super sweaty when you’re the big spoon.”

“Yeah, well, try being trapped in your death grip when _you’re_ the big spoon and you snore in my ears. Think you drooled in my hair a few weeks back, too—then you’ll finally understand my pain.”

 _Married_ , Soul thinks incredulously. _I’ll be married to this woman in a week._

The thought makes him smile until he sails off to dreamland, where Maka features in an embarrassingly domestic scene that fades away by the time he opens his eyes.

//

Maka knows that Soul’s preference is for conservative necklines, flaring skirts, and an abundance of sheer lace, so the dress she wears tonight is deep blue and it caters heavily to his interests.

She likes to wear things like this at parties because she loves to see Soul break away from deep, intent conversations with their friends to look at her from across the room like they are two magnets and the pull of gravity is impossible to resist. Black Star eventually manages to capture his attention, so Maka sighs and turns to her friends.

Liz and Tsubaki have been giving Maka knowing looks all night. Black Star and Soul fill their plates and disgust Kid by talking with their mouths full as everybody gets the chance to catch up for the first time in a while.

The older woman is the first to break the lilt of pleasantries by elbowing Maka in the side, lips curled up in an obscene leer. “So, hot stuff, what’s the occasion today? You two comin’ up on an anniversary or something?”

Maka hums, cheeks flushing lightly. “Nah, it’s nothing special. I don’t get the chance to wear nice clothes very often, you know? I picked it out when I had a diplomatic mission a few weeks back. It was a surprise for him.”

Tsubaki seems more embarrassed by this notion than Maka herself is. “That’s sweet. I’m sure he’ll get to really appreciate it later.”

“Ha,” Maka chimes in smugly. “Like you didn’t blow Black Star in the bathroom before we came over to take the edge off. The two of us know you better than that.”

Tsubaki sputters and Liz cackles wildly, head thrown back and hair flying across her face. “Gross,” Liz wheezes once she can finally breathe. “Oh hell, Tsu, are you the one that initiates things every time? I bet ol’ muscle-head can’t take a hint, so you just wait on his futon like, _oh dear me, I seem to have misplaced all of my clothes. Whatever shall we do?_ ” Her falsetto makes Maka giggle for ages and Tsubaki’s face is beet-red.

“Hey,” Tsubaki stammers, “Maka and Soul are the ones that have been making bedroom eyes at each other all night. I did _nothing_ to warrant this.”

“Well, duh,” Maka quips, “Soul’s hot. Did you _see_ his outfit? Picked that stuff out myself.” He’s wearing a sharp, navy blue double-breasted jacket that has gold buttons over a white shirt, and dark, faded jeans that are rolled up over loafers. They make his eyes and his hair look stunning. “I’m totally gonna jump on that when we get home, but I save the good stuff for _after_ the party. Tips for a happy home, Tsubaki.”

Liz fakes taking out a notebook. “Damn, I should be taking notes. Kid always treats everything we do together like it’s a science project—not that I mind, I think it’s fuckin’ adorable—but he could stand to just relax and enjoy himself every once in a while.”

“I hate both of you,” Tsubaki mumbles, though she’s grinning now, so the words don’t mean much. “Look at them. The boys are all goofing off and laughing around while we’re talking about how to get them in bed. What a waste.”

“I give it twenty minutes before Soul gives me the puppy eyes and we leave with some excuse or another,” Maka chimes in.

Liz counters by saying, “I give Kid ten before he loses his shit about something being off-center in the apartment, so Patty and I have to drag his ass home.”

“Black Star’s about one jump from breaking the dinner table in half,” Tsubaki says, and as if on cue, he leaps up high, taps the ceiling, and the party descends into chaos with Patty laughing like a maniac and Kid beginning to ramble hysterically.

Tsubaki wins the unspoken bet, of course, and everyone makes their way home once Black Star starts picking splinters out of his shirt.

//

“Fuck this dress,” Soul says, rucking his hands underneath the skirt of it and running his hand between Maka’s legs, just feeling the soft skin there for a moment, drinking her breathy sigh in with his lips.

“Knew you’d love it,” she pants in reply.

They kiss fiercely for a time, Soul’s fingers trembling over Maka’s zipper; Maka’s fingers rucking up Soul’s shirt and tracing his spine as they gasp and run tongues over each other’s teeth. The groans and growls get mixed up until Maka sinks to her knees and Soul follows her movements with his eyes.

She unbuckles his pants and shucks those and his boxers to the floor in a fluid motion. Soul’s dick springs free, hot in her small, calloused hands, and he clutches the wall with a wet moan as she gently squeezes him.

“A good wife knows what her husband likes,” Maka teases, licking Soul’s tip for a moment and delighting in the way it makes his legs shake. “C’mon, Soul. Relax. I can take it.”

“I get so fucking nervous when you do this, Maka,” he explains, though his breath is ragged and his head is buzzing with anticipation.

“Just trust me,” she says, and he does.

She works her way down him slowly, little movements of tongue supported by a slow, steady rub of her fingers circled around the length of his dick. The wet warmth of her makes him reach out for her hair, ready to pull her away if he even _thinks_ she’s close to choking, but for now he focuses on the sensations and lets her pleasure him.

Maka bobs more intently, swallowing more of him in each sway, her fingers bracing on the back of his legs and the vibration of her hums making Soul shiver and moan.

He’s ready to come when she tenderly presses her fingers to his balls, still steadily pushing her mouth and fingers back and forth, and he respectfully warns her in advance.

Blonde hair falling into green eyes, she pulls off of him with a dopey, lazy smile, lips flushed red and swollen. Come drips on her shoulders and over her hand while she finishes pumping him through it, watching his splotchy blush spread further down his chest.

“Was it good?”

“Everything’s good with you,” Soul says, scooping her into his arms and heading for the bedroom. He undresses both of them slowly and scrambles around the room for a shawl to cover his meister with, but she stops him with a hand to the wrist.

“Let’s just lay down like this.” Maka’s spread across his dark sheets, and she’s a vision. Her skin is marked with old scars and new love-bites. Her breasts are pert, her hips slight, and she is compact and dangerous and beautiful.

She’s willing to go to sleep next to him while both of them are completely naked, and, though it’s happened many times before, the moment has never seemed so intense as this. Soul is fully aware of what he’s being trusted with now, and he kisses her good night as he lays down with new understanding.

And in the morning, when Maka lets him make love to her slowly, languidly, tenderly, because she’s sleepy and lazy and in love, he can ask for nothing more.

//

It is funny, Spirit thinks, that there are so many rumors about Professor Maka Albarn being stupendously uptight and rigid when he sees his daughter fiddling with her ring one day between classes at the DWMA.

It’s funny that they all think her an old-fashioned prude with a standoffish weapon when she’s three times as fierce as most of the technicians at this establishment. She’s determined to face her fears on any given time.

It is _especially_ humorous in light of the fact that _Soul_ , who receives ten adoring letters requesting to be his partner—whether romantic or otherwise—every day, is the more _reserved_ one of the two of them. Soul is a rumored heartthrob, and his daughter, the woeful bookworm, is said to be doomed to a miserable life that she’s dragged her handsome weapon into. That’s something Spirit giggles about when he needs something to cheer him up.

One day, Spirit thinks that he’d like to place these rumor-mongering children in a room with the two of them when Maka’s dressed to impress her new husband and let them watch the magic happen.

That, he thinks, would probably be the most entertaining moment of all.


End file.
